


Silver Linings and What Might Be

by donutsweeper



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, NPT Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: A case brings Joanna and Henry together, in more ways than one.





	Silver Linings and What Might Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/gifts).



The case had been an unusual one. It began, as many do, with a phone call, although this time it was Lieutenant Reece requesting his expertise rather than Jo or Detective Hanson. Upon arriving at the address, Henry stepped out onto the curb and was approached by the woman herself. 

"I appreciate you coming, doctor." He couldn't help but notice she was lacking her normally staid demeanor, and instead appeared slightly agitated, with a creased brow and tenseness to her frame.

"Of course. What can you tell me of the deceased?"

Striding through the unusually large throng of police, she led the way past the cordon and ushered him into the foyer of a worn, but well maintained brownstone. It lacked the crown mouldings he knew once would have finished the room, but the staircase and bannister were the original rich red maple and bore a sheen and luster that was uncommon in today's day and age. Marring the lovely woodwork, however, was the body of an older white male, perhaps seventy to seventy five years of age, lying face down at the bottom of the steps with his neck and left leg at unnatural angles, obviously having come to lie there after falling, or being pushed, down them.

"Victim is Martin Richardson, age seventy nine." Ah, well, his estimate had been close at least, Henry thought as he approached the corpse, and well within a reasonable range based only on a superficial examination of the man's frame. "A retired detective formerly of the NYPD."

That would explain the extra officers that were milling about. "I'm sorry," Henry said distractedly, noting the blood that had pooled beneath the body. It was only a small amount but it implied an injury there. Despite the obviously broken neck perhaps the fall wasn't what killed him? There were no noticeable defensive wounds on the hands however, so it was unlikely there had been physical fight, perhaps a knife wound to the torso before being pushed down the stairs? Or a gun fired at close range? "Did you know him? Is that why you're here?"

"No, not really. He had quite the reputation though." She shrugged, a slight, almost subconscious movement, before continuing, "I worked a redball with him once or twice, but those were the kind of big, high profile cases that everyone on duty were called in for. But, he was still one of us and someone killed him in my precinct and I'll be damned if I'm going to let this one go easily."

Henry patted her arm as he walked around her. "Of course not. If I may?" he added, gesturing at the body.

"Go ahead."

There was blood spatter on the stairs along with several coins. Interesting, Henry thought as he pulled out and donned a pair of gloves so he could touch the body without the risk of contaminating it. "Although I can't be certain until I open him up, if I had to guess I'd wager that the fall is likely what killed him," Henry began as he turned the body over; the placement of the blood meant the wound was in the abdominal region and was unlikely to have been the cause of death considering the relative paultry amount of blood lost as a result of it. "Well, this is interesting. Two penetrative wounds, indicative of shotgun blasts, but rather than the typical birdshot or buckshot one would expect in such a case, the shells seem to have been loaded with dimes."

"Dimes." 

"Yes, not surprisingly they do not have a lot of penetrative powers, but, considering the powder residue pattern they appear to have been fired at close range and if Detective Richardson was near the top of the stairs, the perpetrator could have been counting on the fall to kill him rather than the weapon." Henry teased one of the dimes out of the entry wound. "A 1948 Roosevelt dime. Hardly in common circulation these days, but by no means rare. Interesting," he added as he looked at some of the other coins, "none of these dimes are less than fifty years old."

"What are you thinking, Henry?"

"All of the dimes I've examined so far date prior to the 1965 Coinage Act. That's probably why they're as damaged as they are; coins minted after its passage are clad of copper nickel wrapped around a core of pure copper and therefore would have held up much better than these older ones which are made mostly of silver. While not often found in use anymore, these coins are hardly considered rare; due to the large numbers struck, and the general low price of silver, numismatists rarely collect them since silver dimes that had been circulated tend to be worth not much more than a dollar twenty each, give or take, but it's still rather unusual to see such a number of them together, especially used as a weapon in such a matter…." but he drifted off at Lieutenant Reece's sharp intake of breath.

"How many dimes would fit into a shotgun shell?" she asked, looking down at Richardson and then to the trail of coins on the stairs. "Does fifteen seem about right?"

Stacking a few dimes between his fingers, Henry extrapolated the size and after a few quick mental calculations said, "Yes, I'd have to count to be certain, but by my estimation that seems plausible. Fifteen dimes per shell and two shells—"

"Thirty pieces of silver." She'd said it softly, almost to her herself.

"Et ait illis: Quid vultis mihi dare, et ego vobis eum tradam? At illi constituerunt ei triginta argenteos. _'And said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.'_ Matthew 26:14-15. You realize, Lieutenant, what this implies."

Given the fact she was the one to mention it in the first place, the look of derision and disbelief she gave him in response was no less than he deserved. "I know I can count on your discretion regarding this," she gestured to the dimes, "development while I look into a few things. It'll take what, a few hours to finish here and then do the autopsy?" At Henry's nod she continued, "Come to my office when you're prepared to present your findings."

"Of course, Lieutenant."

It was close to five hours later by the time Henry found himself knocking on Lieutenant Reece's office door, report and evidence bags in hand.

"Come in, doctor," she called, gesturing him to enter. "And close the door, please."

"My initial suspicions were proven correct. It appears Detective Richardson was ascending the stairs when he was confronted by someone, most likely a man, approximately six feet two or three inches tall given the angle, who fired both barrels of an open, or possibly cylinder, bored shotgun that had been sawed off at twenty inches. The bullets were modified twelve gauge shells that had been emptied of their shot and each filled with fifteen silver dimes before being sealed with a thin cardboard disk and a little wax, probably candle wax although I'm still waiting on tests to confirm that."

"So we were right about the number." 

"Yes, between what was lodged in the wound and recovered from the stairs, it does seem to be a total of thirty coins. And the fact thirty was used was definitely intentional; I experimented a little, and in the manner that the shotgun shells were loaded sixteen coins could have easily fit per shell rather than the fifteen. I feel I should note that as dimes are so light, even the silver ones weigh only 2.5 grams each, they lack any significant penetrative power, but it's likely our shooter knew that and that factored into the decision to confront Detective Richardson where they did in hopes that the fall would kill him."

"And did it?"

Sensing she didn't want him to delve into the man's injuries in exacting detail he merely explained, "Yes, amongst other injuries he suffered a broken neck which was indeed fatal."

The Lieutenant nodded at his affirmation, no doubt having expected such an answer as she would noticed the body's positioning long before he even arrived at the scene and an investigator as experienced as herself would have been able to reach the obvious conclusion. "I have Griffen and McReynolds going through his old cases, focusing on recent releases of anyone he might have put away, but it's going to be a long list."

"How long was he on the job?"

"Forty-one years. And he only left then because he'd hit the mandatory retirement age." Her tone was flatter than he would have thought it would be, almost contemptuous. 

"Lieutenant?" 

"This precinct is clean," she said with the type of certainty of someone who knew it hadn't been always the case in the past but had ensured it was in the present. Henry wasn't surprised; graft and corruption had gone hand in hand with law enforcement since the days of the thief-takers, predating even him. 

"Richardson, I assume, wasn't?"

"He wasn't dirty, not outrightly so anyway, but… his closure rates were high. Perhaps too high, looking back on them."

"You think he falsified evidence?"

"No! No, I don't think so." She shook her head. "I don't know."

"You may well be right, in this case at least, since that kind of conviction wouldn't be in keeping with the usage of the thirty pieces of silver. That more impies the breaking of trust or the feeling of being sold out."

Pursing her lips, the Lieutenant tapped one of the stacks of files on her desk before reaching for her phone and dialing. "Griffen? Focus on cases with guilty pleas and confessions. No, it's just a hunch, but... yeah, thank you."

"So… coercion?" Henry queried. "Studies have shown the veritable ease at which one who knows what they're doing can elicit confessions from both guilty and innocent parties." 

"While that's true, that doesn't quite fit either. The Persistent Felony Offender statute might have been ruled unconstitutional a few years ago but there were a lot of people that faced harsher sentences due to having lesser convictions already on their record when they were found guilty of a felony. If Richardson had convinced someone to cop a plea to a lesser charge rather than risking going to court, even if they were innocent or had a decent chance of being found innocent, it might have seemed a good idea at the time but could have created problems down the road for them."

"Ah, yes, the so called 'three strikes law'; if such a situation had occurred I could see how that might have engendered ill will towards the former detective," Henry said, thinking out loud. "And, while an extreme reaction, it might certainly had led to the sense of betrayal that the thirty pieces of silver would symbolize."

"I would like to think that people in law enforcement are above using underhanded tactics as a way to cut corners to ensure convictions, but I can't say that is remotely the case. It's a temptation every one of us faces, everyday." Taking the evidence bag from him, the Lieutenant looked over the dimes for a few moments before sighing. "Thank you for your help today, Henry." 

"I was only doing my job," he began, about to dismiss her gratitude, but trailed off when the Lieutenant's phone rang.

She offered Henry a quick, "Excuse me," before answered it with a brusque, "Reece," and then listening for a moment. "Right. No, that's fine, I'll take it from here. Thanks, Mac."

Henry waited until she'd hung up and jotted something down, a name and address of some sort that he was careful not look long enough to be able to read before asking, "Detective McReynolds, I assume?"

"He and Griffen are still working their way through Richardson's cases, but they came across one that warranted further looking into. Considering everything, it's better that I question him rather than a regular detective." Quirking an eyebrow at him, she looked him up and down for a moment. "I know it's late, but care to tag along?"

"I would love to. Let me grab my scarf."

Even with the delay of running back to his office to grab his coat and scarf they were on their way within a few minutes. Henry hadn't ridden with Lieutenant Reece before, unlike Jo or Abe she was not one for small talk in the car, instead driving with the focus and determination of a woman on a mission, which, Henry could not fault her for, considering the reason for their trip.

They pulled up to the curb in front of one of those cheap rooming houses that would have been more at home fifty or sixty years ago in the Bowery rather than in today's gentrified version of the city. "Michael Collins," the Lieutenant began as she parked behind a police car that had already arrived, "released three weeks ago after serving seventeen years of a twenty to life sentence after being found guilty of an aggravated assault in '97. The sentence was only what it was because he already had a minor possession charge and a firearms violation on his record, both of which were Richardson's cases. Without them he would have been out years before his wife's stroke and subsequent death."

Henry couldn't help but grimace at that. "Assuming Richardson convinced Collins to plead guilty via subterfuge, and depending on the tactics used, the sense of betrayal for missing his wife's final years could well have caused him to seek revenge and to commit murder in such a highly significant and symbolic manner."

"It definitely could have," the Lieutenant agreed as they got out of the car. "I don't know what kind of resistance Collins might attempt. I want you to wear a vest."

"Lieutenant," Henry began to protest, but was cut off by her no-nonsense glare and raised eyebrow. "If you think it prudent."

"I do." She opened the trunk and pulled a bulletproof vest out for each of them. As they were putting them on the two officers exited the car in front of them and approached. The two officers, one a middle aged hispanic woman that Henry vaguely recognized while the other was young and obviously a rookie whom Henry had never seen before, waited on the steps to the building until they'd finished. "Gomes, Katz," Lieutenant Reece said, acknowledging them with a nod as she lead the way into the building. "Follow us, please."

They stopped in front of one of the least desirable, and thus cheapest, rooms. No one took the room sandwiched between the backstairs and maintenance if they could avoid it. After carefully positioning herself to be out of the line of fire if the suspect chose to shoot through the door the Lieutenant knocked and called out, "Michael Collins? NYPD."

The man who answered the door was silver haired, six three, and obviously unwell- to the point Henry couldn't accurately discern his age. Cataloging and interpreting the man's symptoms and forming an accurate diagnosis with such a quick glance was impossible, but Henry suspected late-stage cancer, far enough along to have spread to numerous organs. "I didn't think you'd track me down so quickly," he said, his manner resigned.

"Why is it you think we 'tracked you down'?" Henry asked.

"Well, someone saw me go in and then heard the shots, didn't they? They must have realized I wasn't an actual ConEd employee and told you about me. No one usually pays much attention if you wear the right uniform and the power company's usual kit was the perfect size to hide everything I needed," he added, half to himself as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He stepped back and waved them into his room, giving them a good look at the shotgun and bullet making paraphernalia, before presenting his wrists to them, crossed in front of him, obviously awaiting his arrest. 

The brief look of surprise on the Lieutenant's told Henry that Collins' manner of entry to Richardson's home was news to her, but she covered it well. In fact if Henry hadn't had a lifetime, a long lifetime, of reading expressions he suspected he wouldn't have even noticed it. She introduced herself and Henry before adding, "It doesn't look like you were trying to flee."

"Don't have anywhere to go. Besides, the docs say I only got a couple of weeks left. Not much point of spending it on the run." Collins shrugged. "Truth be told, I wasn't really looking forward to spending it back in jail either but getting that slippery bastard made it worth the chance."

"Oh?" The Lieutenant's tone was mild but curious, one Henry had noticed was often used to keep suspects talking, and in this case it worked.

"It wasn't just me," Collins went on to explain, "There was so many of us he tricked. He'd say it was for our own good, that it'd be better for us, our families, if we just copped to whatever he said we did. There were arrangements he could make if we cooperated. Deals with landlords so a rent controlled place would suddenly be under a spouse's name. A raise for a parent who'd been struggling to make ends meet. Admission into a certain school for a kid. No one ever said anything about any 'three strikes.' We didn't know anything about that. We just knew it'd be worse if we didn't agree."

"How so?" Henry couldn't help but ask, but Collins merely pursed his lips and shook his head and didn't respond. Was it a case of honor amongst thieves? A fear of reprisal? A conditioned response to authority? It was impossible to guess, all that was obvious was that it was something Collins, despite his previous garrulous nature, was unwilling to share. 

"I've informed Griffen and McReynolds. Technically, it's their case so they'll be taking it from here," Lieutenant Reece softly informed Henry after Collins was cuffed and then read his rights. "They'll see to his statement and the documenting and bagging the weapon and bullet-making paraphernalia."

Between awaiting the detectives' arrival and then transferring the scene over to them, it took some time before they were able to leave; Henry didn't mind the delay, being rather used to the intricacies of the New York Police Department after working with them for so long. He used the time to observe the usually unflappable Lieutenant as she secured everything. In all the time he had known her she had always been a rock of strength and calm, a steady presence throughout the precinct, but to his practiced eye, Henry could tell that the current case had shaken her. She hid it well though, he was most likely the only one who'd noticed.

Eventually she approached him. "Sorry for the delay, when I dragged you along I didn't think about how long it would take to wrap everything up if we were correct in Collins being the murderer. Now that we're done here I can drive you home or wherever you'd like."

"That would be wonderful, although there is nothing for you to apologize for," he said as they headed back to the car, "And for clarity's sake, I must protest. You didn't drag me anywhere. If I recall correctly, you merely extended the invitation; I was happy, and eager, to accompany you."

She acknowledged his correction with a soft smile and nod. "Back to the antique store?"

Not remotely surprised she knew where he lived he responded, "If you don't mind," before pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. It was later than he'd planned to finish work for the day, but not ridiculously so. Luckily the dinner he'd planned wasn't an overly complicated one. On that note…. "Do you like salmon? I only ask because when I shopped this morning it was with two in mind but before we left the station I received word from Abraham that he'd be dining out tonight." The message had also mentioned that Henry shouldn't wait up for him either, but he thankfully hadn't gone into any further details about his plans; there were some things a father didn't wish to know about his son's love life. When she didn't respond immediately he added, "Honestly, you'd be doing me a favor, I rather dislike eating alone."

"So do I," she admitted. "When by myself I usually wind up pulling out paperwork to have something to do while eating but…"

"It is by far ideal company and does not remotely aid digestion."

She laughed. "No, not it doesn't."

"That settles it, I insist you join me then." 

All in all, convincing the Lieutenant to stay for dinner was easier than he'd presumed it would be. Conversation flowed nicely while they prepared the meal - together since she'd insisted on helping - and before long they were sitting down to a lovely meal of teriyaki salmon with pan-fried asparagus.

"If you wouldn't mind opening the wine, Lieutenant—" 

"Joanna. While there may be a need for formality at the precinct," she offered with a smile, "away from it, and among friends, I prefer Joanna."

"Joanna it is then." 

The ease between them continued as they ate; Joanna shared several stories from her many years on the force while Henry offered selective tales of his own adventures, edited carefully to not reveal his secret of course. The food, and the company, was wonderful and for Henry it was first time in a long time that a dinner with someone other than Abraham didn't felt like a social obligation 

"Will Richardson's cases be reassessed?" Henry asked as they lingered over their dessert.

"Possibly. It's unlikely though. He might have encouraged confessions, but cases are almost never closed relying solely on that - having more than a handful in one's career would have raised a lot of flags - there has to be evidence, witness statements, forensics and so on to support it. There's also the fact that he's been retired long enough that most of the sentences for the arrests he made were completed years ago and that I only have the word of a bitter, dying ex-con that there might have been anything even remotely inconsistent or unethical about how they were obtained…." she trailed off before offering a wry grin and a shrug.

"I wonder how many others found themselves in a situation similar to the one Collins did."

"Coming up against the Persistent Felony Offender statute? It's hard to say. It's unlikely he was the only one. I'd like to think it was only a few, but given the number of cases Richardson closed? I wouldn't bet on it."

"Neither would I." The light mood of the evening dissipated somewhat at that. Henry knew all too well how the deck can be stacked against someone in such a way to convince them a terrible choice was the right one. "I do wonder, however, why Detective Richardson continued up the stairs. Collins choosing to confront him there made sense as he needed the additional injuries from a fall to increase the likelihood he actually killed him, but considering the state of Collins' health he must have been standing there, waiting for Richardson to approach as opposed to hiding elsewhere and rushing out at the last possible moment. The stairs were well lit, Richardson must have seen him."

"I wonder if Richardson had been expecting it. This, or something like it. I told Jo once that nothing stays buried forever, that it all comes up one way or another. Maybe he'd always suspected that one of the people he'd arrested would come for him and take their revenge. Then again, maybe he thought Collins was bluffing and wouldn't fire. There's no way we'll ever know for certain."

"I suppose not."

"I know I said it earlier, but I appreciated your assistance today. Facing this side of fellow law enforcement," she sighed, "it helped to have you along. You didn't judge, but also didn't try to make excuses. Despite this being an unusual case were still able to keep your head, and your tongue, so that there were no rumors that could have damaged the reputation of police officers as a whole. And if all that wasn't enough, you invited me over for this fantastic meal. Thank you, Henry, really, thank you."

"Think nothing of it; I was happy to help. And honestly, this has been the first meal in quite a while that I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. In fact, I'm not sure I can recall the last time I had such a delightful evening. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Absolutely. Although next time I insist on cooking. I haven't had an excuse to make my mother's chocolate cobbler in far too long."

"That sounds delightful. It's a date," he replied before realizing exactly what he'd said and how he'd worded it. They were merely colleagues; just because he'd enjoyed her company as much as he had didn't mean she felt similarly. She was probably only being polite and had intended on keeping things between them completely professional and now he'd— 

She reached over and rested her hand over his. "I'm looking forward to it," she said, giving it a squeeze.

Well, maybe he hadn't misinterpreted anything after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of research was done regarding the feasibility of shooting someone with silver dime filled shotgun shells but, in the immortal words of Mythbusters, do not try this at home (or, for that matter, at a friend's house).


End file.
